


Whispers

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Murder, This is my first murder story so like don't expect it to be good, Unreliable Narrator, i have 0 clue about any of this, i mean if you want you can critique me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: I’m scared of the dark, but not the dark that you’re thinking of.I’m scared of the darkness that lurks behind all of our hearts, behind every good deed. We all have this dark voice, nagging, in the back of our minds. Most of us ignore it. We ignore the small voice lurking beyond.Sometimes, people listen.
Relationships: None
Collections: Anonymous





	Whispers

I’m scared of the dark, but not the dark that you’re thinking of.

I’m scared of the darkness that lurks behind all of our hearts, behind every good deed. We all have this dark voice, nagging, in the back of our minds. Most of us ignore it. We ignore the small voice lurking beyond.

Sometimes, people listen.

I see it happen.

It is never a pretty sight.

However, I can never escape its voice. It will never let up. It wants me to fall yet again, to betray the person I built up. It’s there, behind me.

I have accepted that part of me.

I have accepted the fact that I will never be a perfect person. I listen to the voice, sometimes. I never act on it, of course. But I listen.

For if I cannot escape it, then I might as well accept it, too.

I cannot control much, but I can at least listen. I always act rationally, never on my emotions. But is that a good thing? Should I ever just let myself feel, for once?

No.

I cannot.

I refuse.

**I will not!**

For I cannot let myself truly feel. Feelings will only get in the way. They will only hinder me. No, if I act on my feelings, then the voice will take over. And then I won’t be in control.

I’m petrified of it because I’ve seen what I can do if I act upon its voice.

The reason why I will never give in is that I had done so once.

And only once.

My biggest mistake, what I regret the most.

It was on a chilly winter day, where my parents had left, leaving me with my older sister and a babysitter.

For the longest time, I despised my older sister. I never exactly knew why, except for the fact that it was the voice’s fault. Jealousy festered inside of my soul when I saw my parents give more attention to her than me --  **because it should be mine why do they care so much about her she’s useless** \-- and that jealousy turned into rage.

But no one ever noticed. They never did. I realized from a young age that I was a terrific actor. Everyone was fooled by my sweet child act, believing me to be nothing short of an angel. I liked it. I wanted to keep on pretending to be an angel until they saw me for the demon that I truly was. Until they saw me as nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

I never realized how much that voice inside of my head controlled me. I never realized how much of a puppet I was.

My sister was no better. She saw me as an angel too. She showered me with love and affection, and yet all I felt was disgust and cold fury. I wanted nothing more than -- **to rip her to shreds, to put my hands upon her neck and squeeze until no life was left** \-- for her to disappear.

It was my goal. I wanted her gone. Away from my parents’ affections. Away from  **my** house. From **my** family. She never belonged in the first part. She was useless. She had no value, no worth.

**We would be better without her** .

I mean, without her, no one would care, right? But her being gone would be near impossible. She would always be there, taunting me, without even knowing so. What could I, a mere child, do to her?

Nothing.

I could only stand by and watch. I could only watch as she ruined my life.

**Or so I thought** .

On that fateful day, my sister was in her room, doing who knows what, as I simply sat there, playing absentmindedly with my toys. The babysitter didn’t seem to care, staring at her phone, texting someone.

I simply sat there, boiling with rage while recalling last night’s events. My sister had done something “astounding” and was showered with praise, and it was just s **o pathetic** . Why- why did they care so much? It didn’t matter, why couldn’t they just see her like the trash that she was?

**Why don’t you do something about it?**

I blinked. There it was- that voice! Why would it possibly be talking to me?

**You can do something about it. Use your brain. A sister and a babysitter. Did you know she’s known to be violent? Your parents certainly didn’t.**

“How could we possibly get her to attack my sister?” I asked, wondering.

**You don’t. You frame her, of course.**

“ … How could we do that?” I questioned, curiosity getting the better of me.

**Just follow my lead.**

“ … Alright,” I accepted.

**Perfect.** **No need to worry, I have this all planned out. Did you know that that girl just so happens to have anger issues?**

“Really?”

**Yes. She tends to get so angry that she just …** **_forgets what she’s done_ ** **.**

“So … we kill my sister, and then get her mad?”

**Yes. Furious enough that she’ll attack you in a fit of rage. Furious enough that she won’t notice what she’s grabbed.**

“Furious enough so that she won’t notice that she’s grabbed a knife?”

**So you understand the plan, then? She’s asleep. Slip into the kitchen, and get gloves and a knife. A sharp one. Oh, and don’t forget to grab her jacket- you know, the one she took off?**

I got up, quietly stealing the jacket from the couch, where the babysitter sat sleeping. Slipping into the kitchen, I reached up, grabbing the box of disposable gloves on the counter. I took a pair out, then headed towards the kitchen drawer. My parents had reminded me dozens of times to not go in there, because, as my mom would always say, “there are dangerous things that could hurt you!”

She’s right, but this time, I’m doing the hurting. I slipped on the gloves, opening the drawer quietly. I was put on the jacket, and so I slipped the knife inside my sleeve, making sure my long-sleeved shirt would block the knife from hitting my skin. I padded upstairs.

“Sis?” I questioned, pitching my voice up into that annoying childish voice, carefully hiding my hands behind my back.

She opened the door, “yeah? What do you need?”

“Can I,” I looked up at her with wide, adoring eyes,  **wishing that she could choke from the false sweetness of my voice** , “braid your hair?”

She blinked, then nodded, “of course you can!” She picked me up, setting me on her bed as she sat in front of me.

I began to braid her hair, lulling her into a false sense of security. She wouldn’t eve **n know what I was about to do** . She closed her eyes, and I shifted my body away from hers, my hands still doing her hair. How pathetic was she, to not even notice that I was wearing gloves?

I let the knife slide into my hand, continuing to do her hair. She had closed her eyes, and her breathing had slowed. She was asleep. I snickered lightly, as she would never wake again.

I put the knife at her neck, marveling at the amount of calm I felt. I was a child, and yet I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel bad for wanting to kill her. I pointed the knife to her throat and drove in, then out, as blood seeped from her neck. Her eyes flung open, as she desperately put her hands at her neck, only to realize that she was bleeding. 

She gazed at me, with those betrayed eyes, gasping for breath. Blood sputtered from out her lips and onto the carpet. She continued to stare in horror at me before she collapsed in a pile.

I laughed. I didn’t feel anything but pure amusement as I watched the light leave from her eyes. Her expression of pure betrayal only furthered my ecstasy. She finally understood her place in this world. Dead at my feet.

Time to pull this off. I stabbed her repeatedly, making sure the only blood that got on me was on my jacket, before stepping back to admire my work.

She was a disgusting wreck, the blood from her wounds trickling down into a pool. I left her body there, stepping downstairs. I placed the bloody knife on the living room table, near where she sat. I slipped the jacket off. “You sure she won’t notice a thing?” I asked.

**Nothing at all. She’s deep asleep.**

I nodded. I walked closer to her and slipped off the jacket. I carefully put it on her, making sure to not jostle her too much. It was nearly all set up. The final act, however, would be a testament to my acting abilities.

I walked upstairs and peeled off my gloves, flushing them down the toilet. I checked my appearance, noting that I looked perfectly fine.

I quickly walked out, picked up the phone, and took a deep breath. 

**It was time for the curtains to rise, and let the play begin.** I dialed 911, putting it next to my ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

“I-I found my s-sister-” I hiccuped, letting my voice tremble, and false tears already forming in my eyes, yet still keeping my voice near a whisper, “and- and- and I-”

“It’s okay, what happened?”

“She’s bleeding ‘n she won’t respond to me- and then- then- my babysitter found me and she told me-” I hiccuped yet again, “she told me that she’d kill me! And I ran and now I’m hiding and I think she’ll find me- is help going to come?”

“It’s fine. Be brave, alright? We’ll be there soon, so just hold out.”

“I- o-” I froze on purpose, letting my voice take on a tone of fear, “she found me! I- I have to go.” I hung up the phone.

I walked downstairs, towards the babysitter. I screamed, and she bolted up. “What’s the problem now?” she asked.

My tone was total fear, “y-you killed my sister! You stabbed her! You- you murderer!”

“What?”

“You KILLED her! Don’t you see?”

“I didn’t!” she shouted back. “I was sleeping!”

“That’s what you thought, but look! You KILLED her! You  **monster** ! Does it make you feel  **good** that you **killed** a child? Is that what it is, you  **sick freak** ?”

She stilled, “what did you just say?”

“I called you a sick freak! What, is that too much for the murderer?”

“You- you little brat,” she growled, picking up the knife in a blind rage, “you’ll- you’ll pay for that, you know?”

“Oh? Have you finally dropped your mask? Don’t tell me- you’ve been acting so nice just that you could kill us off? Because we’re so naive?”

She snarled, and then she lunged at me. I stepped back, letting out a shriek of horror. “Are you- you’re killing me next?!”

The door slammed open, and the police officer pointed his gun at her, “this is the police! Drop your weapon and put your hands up!”

The girl froze, and I scrambled away to safety. She dropped her knife, and let herself be arrested.

Later that day, I realized what I did. I didn’t know what had come over me, but what terrified me the most was that I didn’t feel bad. I killed her, and all I thought was “good. She di **dn’t deserve to live anyways** .”

“What are you?” I asked the voice that same day.

**Why, I’m you, of course. Who else could I be?**

“What?”

**I’m you. Don’t be so surprised, you knew it deep inside that I was you.**

“No! You’re not me!”

The voice seemed to smile,  **you’ll change your mind soon enough. You’ll see that we truly are one and the same.**

I knew that day would come. But it came sooner than suspected.

One day, when a coworker had called out to me, I had greeted them with kindness, as always. Despite the dread that crept up my spine as cold fury engulfed me, I smiled. It wouldn’t happen again.

**Are you really so sure about that?**


End file.
